


Broken and ready to die

by Broken Masques (Oreias)



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Agony, Blood, Fear, Jack Frost - Freeform, Other, Pain, Pitch Black - Freeform, Rise of the Guardians - Freeform, Torment
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 00:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oreias/pseuds/Broken%20Masques
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after Pitch was dragged into his lair by his Fearlings?<br/>What occurred there and how?</p>
<p>Pitch finds himself eaten, torn and butchered by the very fearlings he once had control over. During that time old memories return as well as someone unexpected. The memories of who he once was before, echoes in his heart and mind.</p>
<p>//Updated to make the words flow better ^^ //</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After stumbling across the beautiful picture [here](http://ymirr.deviantart.com/art/Ending-347495173) by Ymirr, I couldn't let the idea go of telling the story of what happened after Pitch was forced down in the ground and sealed off. His last thoughts are of course of the one he holds dear to his heart and will never let go of while waiting for his death to come.

The screams echoed in the halls of the Nightmare king as the fearlings tore at his inner core, ripping him to shreds piece by piece. It hadn't been the guardians they were after out there at the lake, but him. They had sensed _his_ fear not theirs. His ashen skin was torn, blood mixed with sand of nightmares while they feasted on his terror and fear, the very center of that which was Pitch Black.

It felt like it would never end, he screamed in agony and pain while trying to get away from the pain, thrashing around in panic while his own voice echoed through the dark halls. The tearing, the eating of his very soul, the torture of being ripped apart piece by piece was more than he could handle. The ones he had control over before, had turned on him, a feeding frenzy on their master who had become too weak to be able to lead them, dragging him across the floor between each other between them while eating him alive like rabid dogs fighting for the last piece of meat.

Tears streamed down gray cheeks in panic while the voice of the tormented Pitch Black was echoing through the halls, had begun to tear and loose its strength due to screaming to loud for too long. The normally black marble which covered the floor had turned dark red. The gasps for air and the fighting with these creatures of wanting to live, soon died down and Pitch realized he didn't have the strength to try and fight this fear anymore and his body began to give up on wanting to move. To try and get away from the ravaging mad creatures he had to try and grab them and force them back - he couldn't. Blood stained fingers gripped through black sand formed by nightmares and fears, now being fed by his own center and staining his fingers red by his own essence.

He still cried and gasped for air through the pain but they had ended up in hitched breathes while the tears still roamed free over his dark cheeks while the mares bit and tore at his broken body, barely leaving a single place untouched. He couldn't move, his body was getting too heavy. It felt just like it did that time before, when he'd opened that prison in believe they had captured his daughter. The prisoners had attacked him... then thousand souls ripping through his very being, twisting his mind, turning to vengeance and hate, making him no longer Kozmotis, but Pitch Black.

”... Emily-Jane”

He whispered her name while the only movement he really did now, was done by the fearlings tearing his body apart. Hopefully she was safe and well. The hope of ever seeing her again began to leave him but it comforted him to have her in his thoughts the last thing he did before he completely gave up. His body torn, dragged and pushed around while the fearlings bit and tugged at his chest. It would never hold her again, never feel her close. No, the fearlings wanted the very core that was him now, the center of fear. His golden eyes kept looking at the dark ceiling of his lair, a palace that was once beautiful and full of life was now as dead as he felt inside while blood was oozing out of every wound the fearlings tore in his body. The cape was no more than a piece of rag by now, torn by sharp black teeth aiming for something deeper than a piece of black robes.

With a cough that tasted of iron, Pitch closed his eyes and a few more glimmering tears streamed down his cheeks as he began to accept his fate, he was going to die here. Defeated, ashamed and unloved. Forgotten by all and without any worth in others' eyes as loosing his own self worth. With that, he decided just to wait for death to take him. He didn't feel anything anymore, his body slowly went numb and the only way he was still moving, was the bites and tears caused upon his body tipped asunder by black teeth as if they hadn't feasted for weeks. It didn't hurt anymore, he didn't feel anymore and he slowly became calm in his own fate while fear slowly let its grip go of his heart.

”...Emily-Jane, forgive me...”

He whispered and took a final breath and gave it all up. It shouldn't take too long now. He closed his eyes and waited.

The darkness washed over him like the sun setting during a cold winter night. Everything went still and silent. He waited. He wasn't sure what he waited for but he waited, weeping silently to himself on the floor of his own home.

Nothing happened.

Pitch slowly opened his eyes and saw nothing. No nightmare, no movement no sound. Silence. He didn't know how long he had been there or how long he had been alone. Had he passed out? It was impossible to find out at the moment. He swallowed carefully and it hurt. His body slowly began to make itself known again, to be honest he was afraid to look himself over where he was on his back in the black marble floor. He was hurting and badly so but he didn't really dare to look at the damage the night-mares had caused.

Silent like the grave.

He blinked again and slowly moved his head to the side, seeing one of his staircases in a dim, gray light. An echo of a child's laughter was heard in the distance. He knew it well, remembered it clearly since several centuries ago. His daughter. She'd been his life, his very reason for living. Slowly his left hand moved to his neck and managed to fish out a necklace, a pendant he always wore with him. The movement hurt, everything hurt but he had to see her, _needed_ to see her again.

Bloodstained fingers fished the locket up and managed to open it. A beautiful photo of his beloved child was in there. A slim face surrounded by brown beautiful hair along with her mother's eyes. Another tear fell and stained his cheek before it fell to the dark floor beside him, both by bodily pain but also from heart ache. He missed her so much, she was so lively as a child, so full of life so warm and full of hope. Pure innocence. 

”If all I ever did right in this world... was creating you, then I can die happy...”

He whispered to the locket, another crystal clear tear fell. He coughed hard and winched in pain as blood stained his lips. Carefully he closed the locket and placed his hand over his chest. He was slowly growing cold, the numbness began in his fingers and slowly worked their way up through his system, even his breathes felt cold. He accepted it, he welcomed it even.

An echo from far away was heard, he couldn't really tell what it was or who it was but it seemed to be calling his name. He fought to open his eyes but it felt like he was drowning in himself, loosing himself in the darkness he had come to know as safety.

There it was again, the calling of his name. It sounded like an echo traveling between mountains. Someone touched him. He became colder but the beckoning of his name forced him to return to the surface no matter if he wanted to sink deeper into his own darkness or not.

The blood taste in his mouth was strong of iron and he could feel moistness making its way from the corner of his mouth and down his cheek. His body was broken in several places and the pain was agonizing to say the least. Every breath brought a winch with it but the beckoning continued. Eventually he fought his eyes to open, fluttering tiredly between his wheezes of breathes.

“Pitch..! Wake up, come on. Pitch!”

Someone towered over him, white hair, light skin... it was hard to see with his blurry vision, it took a few blinks before he managed to see who it was, looking at him with eyes filled of worry and pain.

“...F...Frost...?”

His voice was strained and weak and it instantly caused him to cough up more blood which instantly made its way down his cheek and to the floor in a red, lethal line of life essence. He was so tired, his body was so broken and torn. He felt like he'd been dragged behind a car way too fast and way too far. He blinked again and his gray eyes slowly moved to look at Jack while the vision of him became more and more clear from the blur it had been.. The young man seemed to look a bit haunted, looking around for something, but stopped when he met eyes with Pitch's and gave him a weak worried smile. Those glacier blue eyes were indeed stunning.

“... Wh.... what... are you.. doing.. here?”

Pitch wheezed out and coughed slightly at the effort of speaking. Jack placed a hand on Pitch's head, running a careful hand through his black hair.  
“I'm here to save you.”

“...what?”

He coughed again and weezed an inhale.

“I'm here to save you... I believe in you Pitch and the world needs fear too otherwise people won't know right from wrong. Everything has a balance and you're in it.. otherwise you wouldn't be here... but you are. You have a meaning, a purpose.”

"Y-you're... too... late..." 

Pitch just looked at him with eyes that held no spark of life, more blood made its way out of his mouth but without him coughing this time. He'd given up. Instead he just held the locket in his hand tighter before he tiredly closed his eyes. The darkness was so very tempting, it called to him, wanting him to come back to it, luring him with its whispers, promises of no pain. Promises of peace at heart.

“...Pitch! ... _Pitch!_ ”

The echo slowly died down...

Silence.

Darkness.

Calm.


	2. Broken and ready to die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> M+/E (for graphic/blood) / JACK FROST & PITCH BLACK / PAIN / AGONY / INJURY 
> 
>  
> 
> An excruciating pain and cold woke him up from the dark, calm slumber he'd allowed himself to fall into. He unwillingly groaned but then let out a pain filled scream as his body tried to twist and turn. He arched his back and clenched his eyes together just by the mere pain alone. He gasped for air and tried to will his arms to cover his chest where most of the pain came from.
> 
> ”Sssh sssh! Easy, I'm sorry it will be over soon. I had no choice.. please...I'm sorry”
> 
> The words were filled of worry and the voice was soft and filled with care. Pitch gasped for air again as if he was fighting not to drown in the terrible pain, surging through his entire body.

An excruciating pain and cold woke him up from the dark, calm slumber he'd allowed himself to fall into. He unwillingly groaned but then let out a pain filled scream as his body tried to twist and turn. He arched his back and clenched his eyes together just by the mere pain alone. He gasped for air and tried to will his arms to cover his chest where most of the pain came from.

”Sssh sssh! Easy, I'm sorry it will be over soon. I had no choice.. please...I'm sorry”

The words were filled of worry and the voice was soft and filled with care. Pitch gasped for air again as if he was fighting not to drown in the terrible pain, surging through his entire body. His arms finally managed to move and he got his shaking hands over his chest where his heart was, only to be met by something that was cold as ice and did indeed resemble it to the touch as well. Quick shallow breaths with a touch of panic followed and he forced his head up to look his chest over.

”...wh...!?”

He swallowed and didn't really believe what he saw. A large piece of ice seemed to be plastered over a large wound that threatened his entire chest to break open, perhaps even showing bone if it hadn't been for the white frosty touch on the ice itself. Blood had been frozen in place and wounds had stopped bleeding. Pitch groaned and gritted his teeth as he put his head back onto the pillow.

Pillow? He fought to blink and try to get some sense into this emotional overload. When did he lay on a pillow? Last he remembered he was on the cold marble floor, leaking in more places than possible. He hitched a pained breath, gritting his teeth and the voice returned again, trying to soothe him, to calm him down as much as possible. Pitch's entire body burned and stung like he'd been attacked by a thousand bees and burned in fire, at the same time he felt like he'd been left out in the cold like in the blizzard of -68.

”Easy. Just... breathe, calmly. You're going to be fine. I had to stop your wounds from bleeding you out completely I had no choice... Pitch, _Pitch! Easy... easy._ ”

Pitch swallowed again and opened his eyes slowly, his hands still resting on his icy chest as he tried to move but the pain was too great. His mouth still tasted like iron when he slowly let his eyes wander about coughing by forcing his body to move more than it really could handle. He gasped for air a few times, coughing some more and it instantly tasted fresh blood again. He leaned his head to the side and nearly threw up by the taste and the amount of blood bubbling up from his chest, through his windpipe and into his mouth. The blood slowly made its way out of his mouth and onto the floor beside him, he managed to lean to the side just enough to let it be possible to let it run out free while he was still on his back.

He made a faint attempt to spit the blood out. A cold hand was placed on the shoulder of the side he wasn't leaning towards, to help aid him to lean to the side better but without straining too much. When he was done, Pitch leaned back down on the pillow carefully. A groan of pain escaped his lips while he tried to blink focus into his eyes again. The first thing he saw was the ceiling of his own bed chambers, that meant he was still at home. Good. A pained sigh escaped his lips and his eyes didn't really manage to turn to look at who ever was wiping the blood away from his mouth. He welcomed the touch and the care in the action even though he'd never acknowledge that when he was in his sane state of mind.

Pitch blinked and slowly the focus came back to his eyes again. The wheezing of his breathes reached his ears. They matched the heavy and strained feeling of his chest, it was his own breathing he heard he realized. He slowly licked his dry lips and let his eyes wander to the person beside him but without moving his head. Jack Frost. It was Jack taking care of him? Pitch blinked again while Jack was busy cleaning his minor unfrozen wounds with a rug, very gently not to cause more distress or pain than needed.

“Wh....why.. are you... doing .. this, Jack?”

Pitch forced out. He swallowed hard, his vocal cords hurt when he spoke and his voice was broken and harsh from screaming too loud for too long, as well as probably a bit torn as well. Jack seemed to stop in his motion of dressing a wound in his stomach and looked up at him, meeting Pitch's eyes with his glacier blue ones.

“Because it's the right thing to do, Pitch. The others might not agree with me, but I have to follow my heart. The scale would tip way too great if you gave up now.”

“...I am... broken, Jack... I have nothing left...you won, I'm done...”

Every word hurt to say, felt like his voice box was injured somehow but he didn't really dare to touch his throat in risk of realizing he barely had one left. Jack shook his head and seemed to refuse to believe his words. Perhaps he thought he was lying? After all he had lied to him in Antarctica when he was made to hand over his staff to get baby-tooth back. Pitch swallowed again, his throat hurt so bad.

“No, you're not done, Pitch. If you were you would have faded already. You still have some strength in you.”

Jack gave him a faint smile that barely reached his eyes before he turned back to clean the wounds in Pitch's abdomen. Pitch glanced down to actually see what he was doing, realizing he didn't have his robe on and only a black sheet covering his legs and up to his bellybutton. He furrowed an eyebrow and looked up at Jack.

“C-clothes?”

“Weren't much left of them. These sheets cover you better than they did.”

Jack said as a matter of fact and dipped the cloth he was cleaning the wound with in a bowl of water, cleaning it from the blood only to start again. When the cloth returned again, an instant chill came to Pitch's skin that he hadn't realized before. The water was freezing... or, well just below it to say the least. He groaned in disapproval and frowned.

“I'm sorry... all I can do is keeping you cold.. At the same time I think it's keeping you alive and away from fever.”

Pitch grunted then coughed again, gasped for air then started to cough really bad once more. He wheezed a breath in and nearly choked on blood. Before he could react more on it, Jack was there to turn him to his side faster than he could move himself. This time he couldn't help but actually throw up. There seemed to be a lot of blood that he'd managed to swallow, it felt the heaving just didn't want to end and every heave hurt so bad in his entire system that he got woozy and had a hard time focusing again. Jack's hands were cold but they were actually comforting in this entire ordeal no matter how chilly the touch was.

 

 

His eyelids forced themselves to heavily close and his breathing to even out once he was put back on his back again, his mouth yet again cleaned from blood with a moist towel. With a strained exhale, the darkness yet again rocked him back to nothingness and calm as his pale gray eyes rolled up in his head. Blissfully oblivious to what his body was going through while fighting to heal itself.

Calls of his name was heard in the far distance but yet again, he found himself too heavy in the deep dark to be able to reach the surface again. The excruciating pain made him feel sick to his stomach so perhaps it was best just to sleep after all. Darkness had always been his friend, at least for as long as he could remember, it was safe here, always a place to hide in. Sweet darkness, when would Death come to visit? He was just waiting... couldn't deal with this pain, nor the heart ache when it came to his daughter he'd been forced to give up... The child his mind showed pictures of as soon as he let himself sink into the darkness.

 

Dark.

 

Calm..

 

Silent...

Yes....

Death may come....

 

Please......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, please remember to comment on my work! It sparks my muse and makes me want to write more :)


	3. Broken and ready to die 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack takes care of Pitch after the night-mares dragged him down into his hole under the bed and tore him to pieces. Jack starts to wonder who Pitch really is and what he's story is. According to Tooth, everybody was someone before they were chosen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit of a "filler" since the books I own are currently in moving boxes, I'm moving the 1st of December but after that I should be able to get going again!
> 
> Please do comment on my works, it makes me want to keep writing! Feed my muse! :D

Something called him, tugged on him and there was a smell but he wasn't sure what kind of smell it was just yet. Someone nudged his arm a few times and the darkness in his mind seemed to sink away and he slowly began to open his eyes, fluttering heavy eylids before he managed to keep his gray eyes open. His breathes still hurt but not as bas as before.

Yet again, it was Jack sitting by him with a container in his hand which seemed to be a bowl-shaped thermos for outdoor camping. Pitche's body still ached badly, but the taste in his mouth wasn't as bad as before and it didn't taste of blood, which he was greatful for. He slowly licked his lips as tired eyes met glacier blue ones which belonged to a face which held a light smile. He still felt slow in mind, like he was in some kind of cotton ball.

“You need to eat Pitch. I brought you something.”

Jack said and placed the container on the black wooden table next to Pitch's bed. The nightmare prince glanced at it, then at Jack again with a disbelieving look. He wasn't sure what to make of all this or if he dared to believe this guy.

“Your wounds are better now. They're not healed yet, but they're better now than they were a week a go.”

Jack smiled. Pitch frowned and stared at the young man.

“A... a week?!”

He said with a strained voice that indeed had been screaming too much but was on its way to get better.

“Well, yeah... you've been sleeping for a week, but don't worry. I've kept you save and I've been tending your wounds and I haven't told anyone you're here. You're healing well too and should be able to get up in a few weeks.”

The prince of nightmares sighed then glanced down at his body as good as he could. The piece of ice was still latched to his chest, but it was quite smaller now than it was last time he checked. It seemed to shrink along with his wound while it was healing. A lot of the smaller wounds were already healed and his arms didn't hurt as much as they were before even though he still had a hard time moving his shoulders that well. Slowly he tried to move his arms and it wasn't that much pain involved in that either which of course made him relax and exhale in relief. 

“... Anyway, you need to eat.”

Jack said and reached for the thermos bowl on the table. He took the lid off and steaming warm soup and picked a plastic spoon up since metal would only end up chilled and ice cold to the touch like all metal does during winter. Pitch tried to sit up, but ended up groaning in pain and sunk down to the pillow again with a face that tried to hide the massive pain his chest was given him while trying to avoid gasping in pain too much since it only increased the pain more.

“Don't move too much, you'll break your chest wound open. I'll help you, hang on.”

Pitch growled quietly and glared at Jack through woozy looking eyes and a heavy mind. Did he have a plan in all this or what was this really? Slowly and carefully, Pitch took hold of the bed and pushed himself up a little more on the pillow to a half sitting position that were still more laying down than sitting, but at least his head got a little higher.

Jack came up to his side and sat down by him and held the bowl in one hand and picked a spoon up of soup.

“What is that?”

Pitch asked, nodding at the bowl.

“Chicken soup that Jamies mother made. Jamie's sick at the moment but she made so much soup that Jamie gave me some because I said I thought it looked good.”

Jack grinned, Pitch glared. Jack kept grinning, Pitch kept glaring in a silent standoff for a few seconds before Jack brought the spoon to Pitch's mouth and reluctantly, Pitch opened his mouth enough to be able to get the soup in, but not the entire spoon. This was humilliating but at the same time, he realized he couldn't really eat himself from this angle of more laying down than sitting and he wouldn't be able to see what he was doing in the bowl with the spoon either since he couldn't manage to sit up, not to mention his stomach was indeed reminding him about the fact he hadn't eaten for a week. He swallowed the soup and realized it really did taste quite good. He didn't say a word about it however and the next spoon of soup came to his mouth while he still glared at Jack with gray eyes, silently killing him fifty times over.

During this humiliating feeding session, Pitch clenched his fists in his black sheets, grabbing them hard while Jack babbled on about the workd on the outside and that it was kind of spring out there at the moment so he wasn't really needed for now and that of course worked in “Pitch's favor” since he needed to heal and Jack didn't have anything to do.

“Lucky me...”

Pitch had muttered between spoons of soup. The freshly baked bread he could eat on his own thankfully and Pitch ended up grabbing a bun and stuffed his mouth with it so he wouldn't have to talk to the prince of frost. The glaring didn't stop however and he kept it up for as long as he mustered even though the tiredness began to take him again.

“You know, you don't have to eye me like that, Pitch. I've got no agenda in this more than getting you back on your feet. Like I said before, I don't care what the others think, you're needed for the balance too no matter if they understand that or not. I do.”

The prince of nightmares finished his bread and remained still. He was thankful for Jacks' help, but he wouldn't ever say that out loud. He wasn't sure if he'd even be alive if it wasn't for Jack. With a belly full of warm food, he soon found himself drifting back and forth from being awake to half sleeping. He was fighting it of course but he ended up drifting off anyway.

This time however, the sleep wasn't dreamless. It started out with sligt pictures of the world but from the moon's perspective. He stood in the large room in which the prince was placed, as of yet only a baby he was set to watch over. Tsar Lunar was still in his crib at that time, a child that would come to be called Man in the Moon, or MiM, sometimes even Manny. A child that would later on become the first guardian of the children of earth.

Pitch frowned in his sleep and groaned as he moved somewhat on the bed. Jack looked up from cleaning the bowl with some snow and furrowed an eyebrow.

Tsar Lunar was playing in his crib when a guard came in, telling Cosmotis that the Tsar himself wished to see him. Kosmotis was a general and one of the royal guards. He did as he was asked to and appeared in the throne room as the other guard stayed in the room to watch over the child.

The dream however, shifted before he got there and instead he stood infront of his beautiful wife telling her he'd need to leave her and their child to go and watch over the prison of the worlds horrors. She was of course crying, as was he. He kissed his daughters tears, trying to calm her crying of begging him not to go, he was her hero. Emily-Jane was so beautiful with her brown hair and her mother's eyes. 

Kosmotis would have the night before he'd have to leave he knew that much from the orders he'd been given, he was to leave tomorrow morning at dawn. The dream shifted once more. His daughter was sleeping and he and his wife were resting in bed beside him.

 

He reached out to her and moved a strand of hair from her beautiful face. The intention was to keep watching her sleep, but she stirred and slowly woke up and blinked, looking at him with a sleepy but pained smile. He returned the smile, trying to keep a good face and kissed her forehead and she returned his kiss but to his lips instead.

 

Jack looked at Pitch, just studying his facial expression while he dreamed. He looked strained, worried and distressed. The small huffs showed Jack another side of Pitch, a side he didn't even think this man had. This creature of darkness. What was his story anyway? No one ever told and Pitch probably wouldn't tell even if he asked. What Jack could see though, was a man, not a monster laying in bed. A man with bad dreams or at least bad memories of something that made him into the monster he has been forced to be due to events in the past.

He just couldn't stop wondering what Pitch's backstory was. Tooth had said that everybody was someone before they became who they were now. Who was Pitch? What did he have in his past?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember to feed my muse with comments of what you think of my works! She loves it and she makes me want to write more if you poke her side with a few words! ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Please do comment and give me feedback! it makes me wanna write more! :D


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